


between flesh and peace

by avyssoseleison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Use of Grammar, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Bathing/Washing, Forced Marriage, Kidnapping, King Michael, M/M, Mild Stockholm Syndrome maybe, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nudity, Poverty, Prince Castiel, Prince Dean, Protective Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Slurs, Suicidal Tendences of Convenience and Despair, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, War, acceptance of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avyssoseleison/pseuds/avyssoseleison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>as any proper prince is wont to do, prince Castiel abducts the crown prince Dean of Winchester in an attempt to start a war between their countries, since prince Dean has been promised to Castiel’s elder brother Michael, the king, in order to unify their kingdoms and to finally achieve true peace<br/>but Michael has told him the truth about this farce of a treaty and desired unison</p>
            </blockquote>





	between flesh and peace

as any proper prince is wont to do, Prince Castiel abducts the crown prince Dean of Winchester in an attempt to start a war between their countries, since Prince Dean has been promised to Castiel’s elder brother Michael, the king, in order to unify their kingdoms and to finally achieve true peace

but Michael has told him the truth about this farce of a treaty and desired unison, has spoken of those how Prince Dean and his whole kin mean to usurp Castiel’s country and bring poverty and pain and nothing but destruction upon it, and how their first step towards doing so is to marry Michael and Dean and thus give Dean the rights to the power to do so. Michael tells Castiel that the only way to save their country is to abduct Dean and make it look like he fled in order to break off their negotiations and striving for peace, and create an uproar against this treaty, to awaken their people again, lest they be gone and without luck as soon as Dean is being given a throne by Michael’s side

(also, Prince Dean is supposed to be a real minx who not only sleeps around with any man or woman who so much as looks at him, but he also has used his elusive beauty to kill many an opponent of his father’s and to drive anyone who dares not to agree right away to insanity)

(Castiel instantly believes everything said about Prince Dean when he first lays eyes on him; with the first gaze out of defiant green eyes, he can already feel his own sanity waning)

so Castiel grabs Dean at a simple mission to the villages at the border of his kingdom and quickly brings them into his own, though there, they never cross into the civilized part but remain in the underbush

the plan is for Michael to act angered and insulted by the sudden and dubious lack of a husband and for him to officially declare his distrust and make their people claim a war

a war that might finally bring peace by having Castiel’s country take over the reign of the Winchesters’, making the population that is still worn from their last war want for nothing; and allowing his brother Michael to take as his spouse whoever he desires

but it doesn’t work out like that

instead of trying to seduce Castiel and his men, Dean puts up a fight. he claws and punches and kicks (rather well) and absolutely refuses to back down. even under the threat of one very agitated guard to do unspeakable things to him and the most private parts of his body (and for the very threat alone, Castiel has the guard’s fingers being broken and him sent home), Dean still spits and sneers

even when he is naked for the necessary baths during their week-long hideout in the bushes, with all of his baths being personally conducted by Castiel in fear of any other of his soldiers having fantasies about behaving like the scum of the earth, too, and trying to take advantage of how Dean is bound, Dean does not move his body in any way that is meant to entice or sway Castiel. quite the opposite -- he seems almost shy and flinches when Castiel tries to wash him for the first time and touches him with rough hands, careless in the beginning, angered. (and Dean trembles throughout his bath after the incident with the guard, which happens early enough in his imprisonment for Dean to ask if the other soldiers will bathe him, too, if Castiel will allow them to undress and touch him however they please, with no eyes watching. and Dean won’t stop shaking until Castiel, despite himself, has drawn him into a cautious embrace and promised him that he will be the only one to do this to him and tells him about the fate of the fingers of that one guard who has so much as threatened to lay one of them on him. Dean’s trembles are finally soothed not long after, and Castiel always makes sure that there is no one else present during Dean’s baths, and that his hands are now gentle when they wash him)

and this is how it evolves betwen them throughout it all; Dean is under Castiel’s personal protection, his charge as much as his victim, and they spend all that time of waiting with each other. Dean with his hands and feet bound, Cas with his tongue tied, and both of them looking forward to the end of this, however it may turn out. Dean often likens himself to a pet, forced to stay in Castiel’s tent and to entertain him, and Castiel supposed that assessment is not entirely inaccurate. after all, Dean does provide him with entertainment and some touches and the honesty of someone who has no choice but to be honest (from some point on). yet, he is also much more than that, more than an animal, because he is intelligent and insightful and proud and brash and vulnerable sometimes, and much more a companion, an equal, than a domesticated beast. (not least because Castiel is sure that Dean is the kind of beast that could never be domesticated.)

they grow closer, over time. emotionally, but also physically. Dean stops avoiding Castiel’s touches during bath time, instead leans into them, hungering for any kind of bodily connection, any gentleness in all this, and sometimes he even closes his eyes, his long lashes fluttering, as if in enjoyment. after some time, he is also not bound to a pillar anymore, but allowed to roam the tent at first and then nearby parts of the camp with a chain around his ankles. he is still a prisoner, of that there is no doubt, but he rarely has to behave like one anymore

(one memorable night, Castiel wakes up to find the weight of Dean’s body pressed down on him, keeping him immobile while a cold sharpness settles at his throat. Castiel thinks he must die, accepts it already if it’s by the hands of Dean, whom he has wronged so much already, but instead of being killed, the knife eventually clutters away and is being replaced by Dean’s face pressed into his neck, wet and pathetic, where Dean’s whole body is shaken by heartbreaking sobs and pleads to go back home. Castiel is one breath away from letting him go, from sending him away that very night, but the loyality to his family and country still holds strong enough that all that happens is that Dean spends the night in his bed, crying himself to sleep, held in Castiel’s arms, stolen kisses to his scalp)

(Castiel feels sick afterwards and sends a message to his brother in which he asks him to hurry up with the negotiations and please finally settle what there is to be settled. he doesn’t want a war, not anymore, he thinks, but what is more, he doesn’t want to see Dean suffer anymore. if it’s the only option, he’d rather see him on a battlefield, where the fights are honest and true and he can defend himself and lash out, instead of being shackled and hidden away and used as a helpless pawn)

it has been little more than three months when the war is being declared. a messenger tells Castiel and Dean while Cas is still grooming and cleaning Dean so that he may face the day with higher spirits, and even though they should not be, they are surprised. both should be happy with the outcome, maybe, with how there will be an end to their exile now (unless Michael decides that Dean will have to stay hidden for any longer, though that is unlikely; a Prince who only shows up when it’s already too late and who would claim to be innocent and a victim to boot would ring untrue, would anger his people). instead, they are hesitant in their touches, suspended in-between Michael’s announcement, and longing to have those now-absent touches be fleeting once again

they part ways few days after; in order to make it easier on him and to make him more believable, Castiel should probably have Dean beaten up and look like he was actually abducted. instead, Castiel gives him his finest clothes and grooms him one last time, making him look like a proud Prince returning, not a liar crawling out of the woodwork. they don’t touch and don’t look at each other during their farewell, and Castiel’s heart aches when they have to leave Dean all by himself by the roadside

by the time Castiel returns to the castle, his country is nothing but enraged exclaims and heavy armour. Michael’s smile is proud when he enfolds Castiel in his arms, whispers to him about what a service he has done to his country and how their people can finally be happy now and how Castiel should rejoice for peace won’t be far off now, all their father’s wishes and their own finally coming true, but more than anything, Castiel feels nothing. feels nothing but hollow.

*

the war does what it is supposed to; it takes its toll

much could be said about the thousands of lives being taken, about the streets littered with bodies, about the loss of hope and faith and to an end to it all. because _peace_ was what Michael had promised, a quick finish to something that is necessary, like pulling the thorn out of stinging flesh, but it is not what happened. if the situation before, between that last war and the current one, was bad already, then what it is now is terrible. not enough food, for no one but royalty, not enough clean water. all the people are being fed is empty speeches and only more violence, stories of how the Winchesters are one second away from giving up, how there can be nothing but victory for Michael,about how the Winchester king has already fallen and the crown prince, the cowardly and promiscious one, has no chance of leading his country into nowhere but its own perdition

(and this might very well be true, Castiel supposes. with what is left of Dean’s country being too weak and starving to fight, and with him nothing but a beautiful child that has not yet learned how to conduct a war, they stand no chance. they will fall, sooner or later. and Michael, after it’s almost ‘later’ already, decides that it is too soon and yet not late enough)

“i will wed him,” he declares one elusively leisurely evening in front of the fire place. “i will take that whorish prince as my husband.”

“why?” Castiel asks, as is expected of him, but also out of genuine curiousity. why now, why at all? why not when he was supposed to?

“because now, he won’t be able to struggle anymore. his kingdom is in pieces, could only survive if it is being lead by a strong king, a person of true ability and greatness.” he smiles, self-satisfied. “by now, he will have been able to see that there is nothing else for him to do but submit. that his country is nothing, as little as he is. whereas before, he would have been defiant - as he is known to be -, he would not, could not dare to do so now. he will be complacent, will give me what i have been fighting for for so long now: his country, his obedience, any throne and any part of himself that i would want.” he pauses for a moment and shakes his head, as if shaking something off that he has forgotten to hide. “and peace, of course. we will finally bring our kingdoms together, reach unity and freedom for everyone.”

everyone but Dean, Castiel thinks bitterly, but he doesn’t say so. not because of fear or because of the disappointment and feeling of disillusionment that has had more than enough time to settle in the many months of the war. it is because he already knows that this won’t what will happen; that he won’t let it happen. he has long given up on caring about the war or his country and especially about Michael, but he won’t fail the last thing he cares about. not if it costs his life, or that of anyone else. what worth is there to either him or Michael anyway? not one higher than Dean’s could ever be

“are you certain that he will comply? his family is going through a period of mourning and it is likely that his country will be unified in its grief, forgive him what they see as his offenses.”

(such as that time right before the war, when Dean was gone without any explanation, and only came back when it was already too late. yes, that very time that his people still think he was wandering through the lands, drunk and drunken on whatever and whoever, his body as loose as his morals, as his loyalty. for he only returned when it must have been safe, when there was nothing left to drink or to fuck. that time that he might never be forgiven for - despite his protests, despite what he claims to have been an abduction. no fine prince, that Dean. and an even unfiner king)

“he will. and specifically because of what you just said, i will have to act quickly. he may not gain his people’s sympathy; i have already waited too long, have granted him too much sympathy _myself._ “ he sounds as if he actually believes himself selfless. “i will send out my messengers with the first light of dawn, and expect them to bring him back no later than within the week.”

which is exactly what he does

Castiel watches the messengers head out with eyes that sting after a sleepless night, and he only goes to bed afterwards because he knows that all he can do is wait now. that despite his clumsy, straightforward plan, formed between the last heat of the fire place and the first light of the day, he won’t have anything to do until Dean is here, until he has seen him once more, maybe one last time. he craves that much, owes Dean that much

(maybe he owes Dean to never have him see his face again, but he isn’t sure, tries to convince himself that this is the right path to take. much more than what is being said about Dean, the true coward is Castiel. like a princess from some trembling, heedless tale, he doesn’t dare to act without his beloved’s blessing, or at least without a last glance upon him. the first angel of many on the journey that he will be send onto soon enough)

Dean arrives no five days later. he looks as exhausted and dazed as Michael had predicted, and when he is being lifted out of the carriage, he seems to be nothing but a dead weight; Michael might as well have brought him here in a hearse, it would have made no difference. he is being taken into the castle, where Castiel knows the servants will have prepared a bath and clothes for him, and where they will still be preparing the banquet that is to take place ‘no later than within the week’, in two days

a two days’ mercy. two days of preparation, of mustering up, for Castiel now. he has seen Dean, will see him once more at the banquet

it has to suffice, for this lifetime

and when he lays eyes on him again, two days later, Castiel knows that it would suffice for a hundred lifetimes. because even broken and weathered, Dean is beyond beautiful in his robes, easily outshines everyone in the feasting halls without so much as lifting his green eyes, without sitting with his back straight and his body and face presented to the masses of curious onlookers, all pretending to eat and not to stare. not to take in the lamb that will be slaughtered soon enough, will be dead despite being alive, same as his country, by the time this evening is through. because the priest is already present, sitting close to Michael at the large table, just waiting to be called upon, to close the deed he has come to close

and Castiel, sitting himself close enough to gaze at freckles on ashen skin and to take in Dean’s scent, is waiting, too. indeed, for the very same thing as the priest: for the ceremony to start

(the theatrics are the very least what Castiel owes Dean. they won’t be able to blame Dean if Michael’s brother is the one to wield the blade, if Castiel will be killed by the guards not soon after, if the only heir of their measly kingdom will be extinguished, only to illuminate that much stronger the not-quite-widow, the already promised new ruler, standing right in front of the whole congegration. it will be quick and easy, will be clear for everyone, will make Dean their new king and Castiel just another traitor)

at least, so goes the plan. but when the priest starts speaking the words and begins singing litanies, with Michael and Dean standing right in front of him, waiting to be bound to each other for good, it seems more difficult than before. the guards are many, as are their spears, which are too far-reaching, could easily impale Castiel before he has the chance to do as much as touch a hair on Michael’s head, let alone drive his blade in between his ribs. he’s too far away from the to-be-married couple, too many steps are between him and final peace, and his fingers clench around the hidden hilt, as he clenches his teeth

and he considers, for a moment, that maybe he should wait. wait until Dean and Michael are married and feasting again -- but that is, _if_ they will be feasting again. who’s to say that they will return to the festivities instead of into Michael’s chambers, where Michael will do things to Dean that Dean won’t be able to oppose to, but for which Michael would deserve every bone in his fingers to be broken, smashed, ground into dust. Castiel thinks back to Dean’s fearful gaze, to his trembling, naked body, to his weight and blade pressing down on him, to his lone figure by the roadside

(to what he wasn’t there to witness: the derision and malice from Dean’s own people, the grief and despair over his father’s dead body, the confusion and hopelessness, the resignation when he saw that there was nothing for him but to enter the carriage and be spirited away into this hostile country once again, selling not only himself but his own kingdom and his father’s legacy for a few more loaves of bread for his people, for whatever remains from their lives, if already not their dignity)

the thought of all this is what forces Castiel’s hand, what has him hesitate no more. Michael, who would never doubt the child he groomed into what Castiel was before, before the war, before _Dean,_ calls out to him, the faithful ringbearer, with a smile. so Castiel does how he meant to, and he steps forward, with a smile of his own, one that only grows all the more when he catches the gaze of his beautiful Dean. and there’s something in his eyes that is neither even hope nor expectation, simply recognizition, as if Dean is simply glad that he won’t be all alone in this hell, that there is someone there who he must remember to have been tender with him, someone who has let him sleep and cry in his arms, someone who might be his companion once more

and it’s in the moment after, when Dean drops his gaze again, away from both Castiel and Michael, towards his lavish, loveless shoes, that Castiel finally takes that one last step. quickly and too close to his brother, so close that he can smell his sweat and surprise and malice, but no distrust yet, and he plunges his blade deeply, unhesitatingly into where any other person would have a heart.

*

what happens when, Castiel does not know. what he remembers is the warm rush of his brother’s blood all over his hands, spilling over him, his crumpling figure, Dean’s big green eyes staring at him, wide and round, and the sudden, deafening roar of screams and yelling and Dean’s whispered little “Cas”

what comes next happened in a haze; the guards sprinting towards him, their weapons raised, Castiel thinking, “yes, this is it”, and closing his eyes to welcome death, only to be torn from it by a tight grip on his upper arm, seeing Dean fighting off the guards with a sword that is suddenly in his hands, grabbing him, dragging him, somehow through the masses undulating in hysteria, out of the hall and of the castle, and beyond, simply out of there

(maybe not in this chronology; Castiel isn’t certain)

all he knows is that they end up stumbling through the bushes, Dean leading him by his hand as though he was the one to have grown up here, as if this was his land indeed, and Castiel can do nothing but follow him, like a sheep, like a moth

they flee for however long it takes, until they reach a campsite that doesn’t look familiar, that is shrouded in colours and linen that are not of this kingdom, and Dean grins at him through the darkness, victorious and beautiful, and without hesitation, leads him right into it, to the fire

as it turns out, Michael being assassinated was the plan all along. but instead of Castiel, Dean was supposed to carry out the act, was supposed to be the martyr for his country, much like Castiel intended to be the martyr for Dean. none of them could have expected that Michael’s blood wouldn’t stick to Dean’s hands at the end of the night, but Castiel’s

(though Dean claims, after they have given their report to the other people by the campsite, trusted soldiers of the Winchesters, their personal guards ever since Dean was still resting in his mther’s womb, and after they have retreated into the biggest tent of them all (it is still not as big as Castiel’s back then, yet still shamefully reminiscient enough of it), that he knew Castiel would help. Dean says that even though he didn’t expect Castiel to go quite as far as he did, he had faith that he would aid Dean in some way, maybe with his escape, maybe by ensuring him a quick, painless death, so that he won’t be torn apart by all those men and their weapons, but gently put down by the hands that--... he doesn’t continue, although the sentiment is clear: ‘the hands that used to wash him’)

Castiel feels strangely warmed to have had such faith placed into him, though he doesn’t understand the reasons for _why._ as little as he understands when Dean shamelessly undresses in front of him -- as dim as the light in the tent may be --, just shucking off his clothes, baring himself completely where Castiel couldn’t help but see and then leisurely putting on his night clothes. Castiel stands frozen by the flap of the door, watching for unwelcome visitors who are not to see Dean like this -- a remaint of before, maybe -- and at the same time trying not to look himself, not to let his eyes roam over the becoming body that has lost so much of the softness since he has last seen it, has become harder and only more vulnerable with war and hunger

“that was very imprudent,” Castiel protests belatedly once Dean is fully dressed again and already pulling back the covers of the haphazard sleeping place in the middle of the tent

Dean laughs and beckons him closer, hands him a bunch of clothes that must be for Castiel to sleep in. “says the man who decided to stab his own brother with seemingly no reinforcements”

“not ‘seemingly’,” Castiel corrects, “there were none”

Dean considers him in a long silence and in nothing but the weak shine of the oil lamp, his eyes thoughtful, distraught, but not surprised. and how could he be, after he had opted to do the same, after all? their intentions were much the same -- Dean with too much to care for, so that he would give his own life; Castiel with too little to care for except one thing, so that he would give his own life -- and yet, neither had expected the other. couldn’t have. and still, Castiel is certain that, as much as he didn’t, Dean didn’t feel alone back there, in front of the priest, facing not just a clerk, but death. and not fearful. despite not knowing they did, they trusted each other, drew courage from it, and then acted

and now they are gaining their rewards for it: Dean offering the side of his mattress with an almost coy smile, Castiel hovering nearby, night clothes in his hands and warmth beneath his skin

(such a simple prize. and there could be no one more beautiful)

he undresses slowly, without haste, for there is no need for any. with intent eyes, not averted in shame and an offering of modesty as Castiel had done, Dean watches him, watches each piece of clothing leave his body, expose it to him as Dean has had to expose his own, back when they were still hostile companions, imprisoned in their tent and waiting for a war, the only soothing touches with wet hands

Dean lifts his hand when Castiel is fully unclothed, his sleep gowns resting by his side, in a silent request to pause, to not put on his clothes for the night. for like this, Dean’s eyes are free to take in all of Castiel’s body, green gaze licking over it like flames, not like ablaze but a beacon, and when he finally catches Castiel’s eyes, his own are dark and hungry, as though deserving of a real feast now

(he trembles slightly, Castiel notices, though not as much as Dean does when he beckons him closer, _close,_ to him again, calls the nude and willing man to his side, and yet still shakes as though facing a predator. they are both scared, and starved, and this is not what they should do, not right now, possibly not ever, but it’s what they _need)_

Dean makes a soft, desperate noise and clings to his upper arms when Castiel finally covers him with his body, his own heavy and warm and wanting, already aching with his need. and he finally shields away Dean’s beauty and vulnerability as he has wanted to do for so long, maybe for longer than that night in his bed and the baths and the broken fingers, maybe since that one glance that had him already know that it would come to this, that his sanity would leave him for good, would be replaced by something much more significant and much more worthy, something of more meaning than anything in his life before. and he knows this to be true because upon the first touch of their lips, Dean’s first gasp into his mouth, his first soft little moan and his needy, confident grasp slipping down his arm, Castiel knows what it feels like when there is nothing but happiness, nothing but _peace_ in him.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my blog](http://avyssoseleison.tumblr.com/).


End file.
